


Silvairre's Little Secret

by DarthSuki



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Dominant Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), F/M, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Pegging, Reader-Insert, Smut, Submission, Submissive Silvairre, Tagged as pegging but reader's sex is unspecified so it can be any way you like it, bc why not yanno?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 20:15:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18667594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthSuki/pseuds/DarthSuki
Summary: Silvarre is a lot of things as a member of the archers' guild.He is experienced, strong, capable, self-assured……And, much lesser known to his peers, Silvarre is also very much a submissive bedmate.A very needy, loud and particularly desperate one at that.





	Silvairre's Little Secret

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a request made on my FFXIV writing blog. If you would like to submit a request or check out my other related work, [go check it out here!](https://finalfantasyxivwritings.tumblr.com/)

If there was one thing you could say about Silvairre, it would be assuredly that he’s a confident man. Though it leaks easily into superiority if unchecked, the smug bastard certainly has no shortage in the understanding that he’s an excellent archer and a fantastic mentor–that is, when he’s not bemoaning about new recruits.

For all intents and purposes, he’s a man without equal if only for his genuine love of Gridania and the archers’ guild as a whole; no person would argue that even in his worst moments, Silvarre speaks from his heart. Everyone in the guild know these qualities well of the Elezen and largely appreciate him in kind, even if all are prepared to ignore when he drones on about the sanctity of archery or somesuch nonsense.

Silvarre is a whole many things, after all.

He is experienced, strong, capable, self-assured…

…And, much lesser known to his peers, Silvarre is also very much a submissive bedmate.

A very _needy,_ loud and particularly _desperate_ one at that.

The relationship started purely by chance, fueled largely by the drunken stupor of a well-fought victory against a new band of poachers who had krept uncomfortably close to Gridania. It had taken months. Though it was but one of many battles in the neverending conflict against those who would do the forest harm, it was a victory that had left many practically inebriated with joy.

As it so happened, it had put Silvairre in a _particularly_ good mood, so much that he had scarcely offered a well-aimed prodding to Leih (and that should have caught your attention more than anything else). The two of you found yourselves conversing, words gentle and honest. From the guild the two of you walked, towards the inn, finding one excuse after another to keep talking about the battle behind and the many yet ahead.

One thing led to another and, soon enough, you and the Elezen had found yourselves with not a single strip of clothes on your bodies and eagerly grabbing at one another atop a freshly-made bed.

It could have remained simply that: a single evening of passion from high emotions and a yearning to share them with another person. It _could_ have been sex and only sex, but you had to go and get _feelings_ for the man.

Because while you can’t figure out if it’s lust, love or a much more petty desire, there’s something absolutely _delicious_ about pressing Silvairre down against the bed, fucking him so hard that he’s hardly able to keep a string of words together. His face is gloriously beautiful when it’s contorted in pleasure, when his face is flushed and his lower lip caught between his teeth.

So of course, it becomes a regular thing.

Many encounters later, spent across several evenings, mornings, quick excursions in forgotten closets of the archers’ guild and once even in a private spot in Black Shroud that he’s made you swear never reveal, the two of you are in but one moment of many.

The sun has barely fallen over the horizon. Dinner has yet to be eaten, and there are still plenty of tasks to take care of before you bid a visit to the loving embrace of slumber. You are about to leave your room in the inn in hopes to lessen your lists of tasks when Silvairre meets you halfway out of The Roost.

He looks a little flushed even as he approaches you, eyes glancing this way and that as if genuinely worried that people are watching him–the patrons of the tavern couldn’t care less for one more Gridanian archer when it is already bustling with noise and bodies.

“What a chance to run into you here,” Silvairre says, shifting his body into a pose of crossed arms over the chest that looked a tad too forced to be entirely casual.

“Oh, quite the rarity,” you say with amusement. “After a long day of work, why in the world would I be in my quarters when surely I could be elsewhere and _not_ relaxing in a comfortable bed.”

The teasing only seems to make Silvairre’s flush worsen, his cheeks turning positively rosy so much that you can’t hope to contain a giggle.

“I mean-” the Elezen begins, already showing the softest signs of being flustered. “I had wanted-…I mean, I had hoped that you would be…”

“Here?”

“Yes,” he can only hold a glance at your eyes for but a breath before you watch his gaze fall down towards the floor. “And if you would happen to spare the time this evening, I…wanted to ask…I wanted….to see if possible….”

You wait for him to finish the sentence, though even after several seconds of silence, he never quite does. Amusement only grows in your chest at the man’s flicker of care, no, the shyness of breaching a topic you had already guessed the moment he stepped into the tavern with such a flush on his cheeks.

You know exactly what he’s trying to ask of you. Though it could be easy enough to simply hurry on the conversation with your correct assumption, it’s far more satisfying to hear Silvairre ask it himself–one might even call it adorable, perhaps even arousing, knowing that you are one if not the only person to be able to see the man in this rare, vulnerable moment.

“Silvairre,” you say, voice low, but firm in tone. “If you want something from me, you have to ask it completely–I can’t read your mind at all.”

The words seem to both annoy and relieve him. Perhaps he is searching for your reassurance, a gentle nudge towards the idea that your relationship is not something to be wholly ashamed of–or perhaps he’s just not quite used to having to _ask_ for something like this.

Either way, you eventually take the man’s hand and gently lead him back into the inn and to your room.

Somewhere between the soft kisses along skin and clothes tugged off of your bodies, you finally hear him ask the question in full: it positively _delights_ you every time you hear it from him.

“Will you _have_ me?”

There is something about how he says it, how there is such a layer of meaning soaked into the word ‘ _have’_ that you can’t hope to misinterpret its depths. It invokes explicit images of watching him shiver beneath you, feeling his body shake at the initial press inside of him–somehow, the man has figured out how to make a single word drip so deliciously of sex that you might almost consider it a form of foreplay.

By the time that he and you are as naked as can be, he’s already wordless and pressing needy kisses across your throat and shoulders. They’re soft, leaving no marks behind, but he doesn’t hide the enthusiasm of his need with how his hard cock gently nudges against your belly.

“Silvairre,” the single word captures his attention in but a moment. “I need you to get on the bed _now_.”

You don’t need to tell him a second time; with one final kiss pressed against your collarbone the Elezen all but tears himself away from you to situate himself upon the fresh sheets of the bed. He tries to find a position that’s comfortable, but it always seems to be a thing of nervousness for him–perhaps he’s otherwise used to being the initiator, perhaps he’s used to the roles being switched, but he’s nevertheless always unsure how best to lounge upon the bed as you get yourself ready.

By the time you approach the bed, Silvairre has positioned himself on his stomach, arms curled in front of himself and around one of the many pillows scattered next to the headboard. His body looks beautiful like that, the position showing off the long, smooth lines of his body from shoulder to thigh–how his legs are long and largely unmarked, almost begging to be left with reminders of your lovemaking for many days thereafter.

You climb onto the bed from the foot, easily taking the empty spot between the man’s legs and leaning over his form so that the press of your cock nudges teasingly against his ass. Even though you made sure not to be silent nor stealthy, Silvairre still jumps slightly at your presence, a gasp passing over lips that you yearn to bite and kiss until they’re swollen and red.

“I’m right here,” you murmur, a single hand stroking down the man’s flank as if soothing a frightened chocobo. “If you could reach towards the small table on your right side, there’s a vial of oil and-”

“There’s no need for that.”

The man’s words interrupt yours, yes, but they also surprise you in their message. A silence falls between the two of you as meaning begins to bloom from insinuation, until finally you’re left wondering if he means what you are assuming.

Silvairre offers no further explanation, but he doesn’t stop you when you gently reach down and press a cursory fingertip against his hot entrance. Where you expected resistance, you instead find a slick and gentle give to the ring of muscle–enough that a soft moan escapes you.

Oh.

“I…was trying to….take care of my own needs…” The Elezen says, voice half-muffled into the pillow. “I was well under the impression that you’ve been tasked greatly by the guild and I…”

Your heart thumps loudly against the inside of your chest, already knowing the words about to spill from Silvairre’s lips but wanting desperately to hear them all the same.

A second passes, and then another–you can hear the blood rushing through your ears when the man finally lets out a little sob and presses his ass back against you, as if begging with pure motion and pressure of your bodies for the pleasure you can give him.

“ _I need you_.”

The words are simple, soft, and hardly understandable when broken and muffled by the fluff of a pillow, but you are able to hear them all the same. Whether it’s the words themselves or their inherent meaning–mental images flashing of Silvairre trying to finger-fuck himself and whimpering your name–your mind is tossed into the fray of lust regardless.

For as perfect as it might be to take the moment to drink up every ounce of joy that hearing those words give you, it’s the pleasure and lust that push you into overdrive.

You _need_ to fuck him. Right now. Right here.

Considering that your partner was already stretched out and so slick that he’s almost _dripping_ , it hardly takes more than a quick shift of your hips before you’re able to sink yourself to the root inside of his silken heat.

He all but sobs your name into the pillow as you move, body tense and desperate for more. One thrust, then two, three and then you’ve finally found a pace that’s comfortable. Not so quick that the motions are jarring, but not so slow that you’re not able to wrench one sweet whimper after another from between Silvairre’s lips.

Though you may have prefered to have him on his back or in a plethora of _other_ positions (of which the two of you have experience with), there’s something innately satisfying with having the man on his stomach as you fuck him. Perhaps it’s something about how you’re able to feel his back arch and his ass press back against you, seeking out your cock with every thrust. Perhaps still it’s how he clutches so desperately at one of your pillows. Or maybe it’s how he humps against the mattress, hardly to be bothered by the notion of reaching a hand down to his own cock and jerking himself over the edge–or maybe he just wants to get off by the feeling of you alone opening him up.

It’s a lot of things that leave you somewhat fond of the position, and you’re sure the man has his own reasons for liking it in kind–leaving him so powerless beneath you, at the mercy of your desire of pace and roughness, him only to take every bite, every thrust, every hungry word of lust that you deign to offer him.

It doesn’t take him very long to orgasm. With the notion that he had spent an unspecified amount of time trying to tend to his own carnal hunger, you can’t find yourself too terribly surprised when Silvairre cries out and you feel his body tense up in all the rhythmic ways you’ve memorized as his orgasm. His back arches and his legs curl around you as best they can in the awkward position–and all he seems to  be able to speak is your name alone.

When the haze of climax finally settles down, you feel a smile creep up gently along the corners of your lips–amusement and hunger start to gnaw at your stomach enough that you feel a little like a cat who has caught its prey.

After but a few moments you start thrusting again, though the motions are much gentler than they had been but a minute before.

It doesn’t take a genius to feel the man’s soft surprise, so you lean down over his back, close enough so that you can drag your lips over the back of his long, flushed ears.

“You think I would be done with you that quickly?” You ask, hands finding his hips and letting your fingers press possessively against his skin. “You have asked for my evening of attention, dear Silvairre–and an entire _evening_ of attention is exactly what you will receive.”

And to that, all Silvairre can do is moan sweetly, needily, _beautifully submissive_ in reply.


End file.
